When to Speak, When to be Silent Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On January 17th, 2021 Scripture: 1 Samuel 3:1-20 Every year, coming up to the observance of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther Kings Jr.’s birthday, I am faced with a dilemma. Should I speak, or should I not? Should I play a recording of one of those powerful Martin Luther King speeches? Should I read from one of his prophetic and, to this day, “right on” sermons? Or, should I preach to you? There’s good reason to play a recording or read from Dr. King’s sermons. First of all, he had an exceptional command of both scripture and American politics and civics. He had extraordinary eloquence and delivery. And Dr. King lived his truth, even died for his truth. There is every reason to have Dr. King preach today. And yet, given the observation of Martin Luther King Day tomorrow and the events in our nation the past couple of weeks, there is also a reason for me to speak. There is a reason not to leave all the work to the long-deceased Civil Rights leader. Martin Luther King is safely revered because he is tucked away in the pages of history. And we white Christians might not feel so comfortable if he was here today. His message often spoke of the complicity of white moderate Christians by our silence and politeness in the face of racial injustice. And so, other years may well be different, but I have decided to speak today. Our scripture reading for today tells of the young prophet, Samuel, and his first experience of being called by God. The story of Samuel begins just after the end of the era of the judges. This was a chaotic and lawless time. Israel’s history picks up again with Hannah, Samuel’s mother making an annual pilgrimage to the temple in Shiloh. Hannah comes to the shrine, were Eli is the priest. She prays for a child because she is barren. She promises that if she is blessed, she will dedicate her first child to the service of God. True to her word, Hannah brings her firstborn, Samuel, back to the temple, to the care and keeping of Eli, while he is still very young. At this time, Eli and his family have neglected their duties to the temple. Eli’s sons have run amok and desecrated the place, stealing the sacrificial meat for themselves, and sleeping with the women who inhabit the entrance to the shrine. It is hardly surprising that word of the Lord has become rare, and there have not been any visions of holiness. Eli’s family have not made a conducive atmosphere for prophecies and visions. However, Eli takes the young Samuel under his wing. Perhaps he has a sense that this is his last chance to raise a God-fearing child. One night as Samuel is sleeping in the temple. The lamp of the Lord, set to burn all night, is close to going out, when he hears someone calling his name: “Samuel, Samuel!” Samuel assumes this is Eli, of course, and rushes to his mentor’s side saying “here I am.” He is sent back to bed, as so often happens to children who wake in the night. The hearing of his name and the coming to Eli continues until a third time when Eli realizes that God’s silence has finally broken. Samuel is being called by the Lord and had better answer, and so Eli gives Samuel the words to say “speak, Lord, for you servant is listening.” And Samuel does indeed listen. He listens while God tells him something that will make the ears of anyone who hears it tingle! We don’t know what kind of tingling this is. Maybe the delight of hearing some hot gossip from God. Or perhaps the chilling tingling that comes when someone’s guilty secret has been exposed. Eli’s house is going to be removed from power, they are going to be punished forever because of their blasphemy against God. And now Samuel is left with a dilemma. He is afraid to tell Eli the message he received from God. He doesn’t want to anger Eli or hurt his feelings. He wants to remain silent on the matter. Perhaps Eli knows in his bones what is coming. And so he persuades Samuel to speak. Eli is not angry about the message, and simply says “It is the Lord, let him do what seems good to him.” This is the beginning of Samuel’s service to God as prophet and king maker. From this day, he is always listening, always ready to receive. And also he is not afraid to speak, when called upon. Eli has done well with Samuel. When to speak and when to remain silent is a dilemma many of us are dealing with daily. Do we speak up, when we witness racist attitudes in our friend groups and families? Do we challenge our friends and neighbors when we hear them repeating falsehoods they have absorbed from the media? Do we intervene when we witness verbal or physical abuse, bullying or other unacceptable behaviors? Are you afraid to speak, because you are intimidated or because it’s uncomfortable? Are you afraid of angering your friends or neighbors with a message of truth? We, you and I, may not think of ourselves as prophets, like Samuel. And indeed the life of a prophet can be lonely and short. But Jesus – our prophet, priest and king – did not shy away from speaking truth to those in power. In particular he spoke out against injustice for the poor and the powerless. And Dr. King reminds us that if we claim to follow Jesus we will be called to speak truth to people who do not want to hear it. And that is not a comfortable thing. Often I wrestle with when to speak and when to be silent. I have noticed that when I am in a group that seems very well educated, perhaps a little high and mighty, I tend to keep silent. After all, I don’t want to give away my lack of knowledge or say something that would make me look foolish in that setting. On the other hand, when I am in a group that seems on a level with me, I feel quite comfortable in sharing my opinions. Effectively, I get it backwards. I’m inclined to speak when I feel most comfortable to do so, and clam up when speaking feels uncomfortable. A couple of years ago, a group from the church attended the Boston City Mission Martin Luther King day of learning. In a church hall in Brookline there was a gathering of people from a variety of churches and backgrounds. The speakers and the attendees were both people of color and white people. Some were ordained ministers, and others were interested lay people. What had not occurred to me until that day in Brookline was that whether I speak up or remain quiet, my decision is often shaped by the race and gender makeup of the group. When I’m in a group dominated by older white men I may naturally assume I am at a disadvantage. I shy away from taking the lead and speaking. When I am in a group consisting mainly of women and people of color, I’m not so hesitant to take a lead and speak. I feel comfortable to do so, and yet I realized that there is entitlement in that feeling of comfort. When we broke out into groups of young and old, white and black, and some who identified as men and others women. In my group there was an older black woman, who told her story: it was one of a life of poverty in Boston. She talked about her community and the ways in which they had been pushed out into forsaken neighborhoods. She was spiritually grounded, articulate and also a little edgy. She wasn’t going to let anyone get away with entitlement, based on their age, gender or race. At one point I began to say something and then stopped. This woman finally looked at me, “Liz, I want to know what you are thinking. I can see you have something to say, tell us what it is.” I was so glad I had waited for the invitation. I confessed that I had the privilege of a good education, focused on productivity. That had set me up for a successful career and a comfortable life. But I had not been educated on the history of racism in the US. I had found this out much later and only recently. Through my children’s education, the new books I was reading, and my seminary experiences, I had come to realize that I had been ignorant about the true meaning of racism. I’d recently learned that the median net worth of African American households in Boston was $8. I’d learned about the displacement of black American communities through gentrification. I’d learned about red-lining of certain districts and the way in which black families had been shut out of home ownership for generations. I confessed that I was just getting to grips with the reality of my white privilege and it’s meaning in today’s world. The woman who asked me to speak seemed satisfied with my reply. It would have been quite different if I had jumped in earlier. First I needed to listen to her story. Then I needed to confess my own. This weekend we remember Dr. King as we look back on a year of struggle for black Americans. In the summer we witnessed protests in American cities, including Quincy, against police brutality particularly on young black men. We have also witnessed pushback from those see white privilege and supremacy as an American and God-given right. We saw Confederate flags carried into the Capitol building last week. We witnessed minimal resistance to the attack on the Capitol, something we could not have imagined if the protesters had been black. We read stories of black churches being burned and desecrated. If we are being called to remain silent and listen, it is not because we are intimidated but because there are things we need to learn. And then we are called to speak, even if we are afraid we will anger or upset the ones we speak to. And so, is God calling your name in the night, like Samuel? Are you being nudged to first listen and then speak? And if so, what would God have you say? May all God’s people say, Amen
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